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| Barb Polan Barb's Recovery |
August 19, 2013
Being authentic pre-stroke was easy: I knew who I was, what my goals were, and how to be my best self. I had some natural characteristics I admired, so I could let them have free rein: intelligence, compassion, empathy, helpfulness, generosity, faith, tolerance, wit, along with being logical and straightforward. As a result, I felt good about myself. Who wouldn’t? Post-stroke, it’s harder. Being authentic now frequently gets me where I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be slow – mentally or physically.
I want to be my bright and agile true self, but the stroke undid that. I don’t want to be socially inept – I’m getting better at that now; I no longer walk away from people when a discussion has ended or say “bye” and hang up the phone when I’m finished with what I wanted to say. But it’s no longer natural for me to make eye contact or to know whether something is rude or impolitic to say. My etiquette self-filter has been incompetent since the stroke. If I don’t react as my brain-injured self would spontaneously, but try to control my behavior, am I being authentic? As for activities, I sometimes settle for doing things that are easy rather than things I truly love to do. For example, I used to love to paint, but it’s just too hard for me now. I’m back to the stage where I already know what something looks like so I don’t really see what I’m looking at. And I row on the rowing machine in my office instead of lining up friends to go out in the gig boat in the harbor – even though I’d prefer to be out on the water. It’s just so much more work. I’m compromising everywhere I look. I justify it by telling myself that everything in my life is hard, so I can take the easy route sometimes. With people, I am frequently on guard that I will do something wrong; my self-esteem is so battered that I have no confidence. Sure, there’s my bravado that all will be well and that my recovery will get me back to my former physical and cognitive self. But the doubting part of me makes me feel dishonest when I present myself as sure that my hand function will return, I’ll row without help, and I’ll get back to completing the Sunday Globe crossword puzzle every week. Play-acting Pollyanna isn’t authentic, is it? Or do I mean it? Do I believe? Has my forced optimism become enough of a part of me that it is authentic?
I want to be my bright and agile true self, but the stroke undid that. I don’t want to be socially inept – I’m getting better at that now; I no longer walk away from people when a discussion has ended or say “bye” and hang up the phone when I’m finished with what I wanted to say. But it’s no longer natural for me to make eye contact or to know whether something is rude or impolitic to say. My etiquette self-filter has been incompetent since the stroke. If I don’t react as my brain-injured self would spontaneously, but try to control my behavior, am I being authentic? As for activities, I sometimes settle for doing things that are easy rather than things I truly love to do. For example, I used to love to paint, but it’s just too hard for me now. I’m back to the stage where I already know what something looks like so I don’t really see what I’m looking at. And I row on the rowing machine in my office instead of lining up friends to go out in the gig boat in the harbor – even though I’d prefer to be out on the water. It’s just so much more work. I’m compromising everywhere I look. I justify it by telling myself that everything in my life is hard, so I can take the easy route sometimes. With people, I am frequently on guard that I will do something wrong; my self-esteem is so battered that I have no confidence. Sure, there’s my bravado that all will be well and that my recovery will get me back to my former physical and cognitive self. But the doubting part of me makes me feel dishonest when I present myself as sure that my hand function will return, I’ll row without help, and I’ll get back to completing the Sunday Globe crossword puzzle every week. Play-acting Pollyanna isn’t authentic, is it? Or do I mean it? Do I believe? Has my forced optimism become enough of a part of me that it is authentic?
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